A Wall of White
by Walking in Little Circles
Summary: Hogan's Heroes are planning for Christmas when a snowstorm stops their Red Cross packages. Carter decides to take things into his own hands. Will the Heroes still have a Holly Jolly Christmas, or will it all come crashing down?
1. The Night of the 21st

**The Night of the 21** **st**

The weather outside was frightful. A blizzard was making its way through Germany, covering everything in its path in pure white snow. Everyone in the area was sitting next to a fire, warming up with some boiled water, or if they were lucky, some hot cocoa.

Well-almost everyone.

Hogan's Heroes were all huddled around the radio in the frigid cold tunnel, waiting for orders from London. LeBeau was rubbing his shoulders furiously. Carter was wringing his hands. Newkirk, on the other hand, was standing completely still, his hands stuck deep into his pockets. Kinch was sitting in his chair, watching the radio, the headset around his neck.

Suddenly, the beeping started. The men watched in anticipation as Kinch started to translate the message. Kinch tapped the receiver, asking for a repeat. The message came again.

Kinch took off his headset, a grin on his face. "Due to the blizzard, London has requested that all espionage activity cease for the next five days."

"The next five days?" Carter started counting on his fingers. "Does that mean…?"

Newkirk gave a loud whoop. "It sure does! We have Christmas off, mate! And Boxing Day too!"

Carter's eyes widened. "Oh boy!" he exclaimed. "Well, what are we going to do for Christmas then?"

"Our Red Cross packages should be arriving any time now," LeBeau said. "Even if the Kommandant steals from them, we should have enough supplies for the best Christmas Dinner this camp has ever seen!"

Carter smiled dreamily. "My mouth's watering just thinking about it!"

"I bet we can get some pine branches, and maybe get a wreath to decorate the door," Kinch suggested.

"I don't care what we do!" Newkirk exclaimed jovially, "We finally get a bleeding holiday!"

"Let's go tell the Colonel," LeBeau grinned. "He'd love to hear the good news!"

The team exited the tunnel. Colonel Hogan was watching the door, ready to shoo away anyone who wanted to come in.

"We have Christmas off!" Carter announced loudly.

"The blizzard is making travel almost impossible, so we have orders from London to lay low for the next five days." Kinch explained.

Hogan grinned. "I was hoping they'd order that. I'll speak with Klink, see if we can get an extra hour or two of electricity for Christmas."

"I will plan the dinner!" LeBeau eagerly grabbed a pencil and some paper and began scribbling down some ideas.

"Permission to go outside and gather materials for a wreath tonight after rollcall?" Kinch asked. "I won't be going too far from the stump, so I'm not going to get lost out there."

"If you want to go out into the cold, permission granted," Hogan said, "and grab some holly if you can find it. But don't go out of your way though. I'm not a botanist, so I'm not sure if it grows here or not."

"Don't forget to look for some Mistletoe!" Carter told Kinch.

Kinch was bewildered. "Mistletoe? Why would we need that?"

"Because…" Carter blushed, realizing what he had just said. "Never mind!"

Everyone burst out laughing, even Carter.

"So, are we going to be doing presents?" Carter asked when the laughter died down.

LeBeau looked up from his list. "I'd like to, but I'm not sure I could get enough presents for all four of you, especially since we only have three days until Christmas Eve."

"It's kind of hard to go Christmas shopping when you're busy sabotaging," Newkirk added sarcastically.

"What if we only did one each?" Hogan suggested. "We can do a Secret Santa."

Kinch smiled. "I like it Colonel."

"Oh boy!" Carter looked like he was about to burst from excitement. "This is almost like Christmas at home!"

Newkirk tore the flap off his box of cigarettes and broke it into five pieces. He handed one to each person. LeBeau passed around his pencil. Hogan took off his hat and laid it on the center of the table. One by one, each man wrote his name on the cardboard and placed it in the hat.

When everyone was done, Hogan picked up his hat, gave it a good shake, and passed it around.

"I got myself!" LeBeau complained.

"Me too," Kinch said. The two men hastily switched cardboard pieces.

"Is everyone else good?" Hogan asked.

LeBeau, Kinch, and Newkirk nodded. Carter was staring wide-eyed at his piece.

"Did you get yourself too, André?" LeBeau asked.

Carter shook his head. "Nope." He folded the cardboard and shoved it into his pocket. "I'm good."

"Alright everyone," Hogan said, "We have three days until Christmas Eve. Don't stress too much over your Secret Santa. LeBeau, if you need any help with dinner, just ask."

"Oui, mon Colonel," LeBeau nodded.

"This is going to be the best Christmas I've ever had in a long time," Carter said.

Everyone nodded, lost in thought. But their reminiscing was cut short by a loud noise.

"Everyone out for rollcall, _Raus! Rrraus!_ " Sargent Schultz ordered.

The men sighed. It was freezing cold out, and nobody wanted to go for a rollcall. They trudged outside anyway. Hopefully, it would be quick.

"Repoooort!" Kommandant Klink's yell boomed across the camp.

"Herr Kommandant, all present and accounted for!" Schultz informed him.

"Very good! Prisoners dismissed!" Klink sounded very far away. It seemed that even _Klink_ didn't want to be outside in the storm.

The instant rollcall was over, Kinch went to gather the pine branches. Everyone else started to get ready for bed, thinking about what to get their Secret Santas, and what in the world someone could get for them in Stalag 13.

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Kinch came in from outside, covered in snow. He was surprised to see Hogan there.

"How's the weather?" Hogan asked casually.

"Terrible," Kinch said. "I got the pine branches, but it was really hard to see out there. I even tried to get back in through the wrong tree stump."

Hogan frowned. "This storm's a doozy. No wonder London wants us to lay low. No more outside missions for a while."

"You got that right," Kinch smirked. "Besides, who wants to be outside on Christmas? Especially with this party going on."

Hogan grinned. "You're right. All we have to worry about now is how we're going to treat our stomach aches after stuffing ourselves with LeBeau's dinner. And that's not the worst thing in the world. Not by a longshot." Hogan stood up. "I'm heading off to bed. Merry Early Christmas, Kinch."

"And a Happy Early New Year to you too, Colonel." Kinch answered back. He watched the Colonel walk back to his room, a spring in his step. Kinch smiled. It had been a long time since he'd seen Hogan this relaxed. Kinch changed into his nightclothes and went to bed.

Outside, the storm raged on.


	2. The Morning of the 22nd

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! I may not get this story finished by Christmas because I work double shifts until Christmas Eve, but I'll try!**

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 **The Morning of the 22** **nd**

The instant rollcall ended, everyone got to work. Hogan went straight to Klink's office to ask for the extra hour of electricity. The snow twirled through the air, and the wind cut through Hogan's coat. He shivered, went inside the staff house, and knocked on the office door. He didn't even stop to talk to Helga. "Klink?"

"Come in Hogan!" Klink answered impatiently.

Hogan opened the door. Klink was busy working on some papers. "Kommandant, I have a few things to request from you."

"For Christmas right?" Klink looked up. "Alright, go ahead. But make it quick."

"Extra rations for all the prisoners and an extra hour of electricity for the 24th and the 25th." Hogan said.

Klink scoffed. "Request denied!"

"Oh come on, sir!" Hogan protested. "It's Christmas! Have a heart!"

Klink shook his head. "Hogan, even if I wanted to, I couldn't! We are running low on supplies! The blizzard is making it almost impossible for the trucks to deliver anything!"

Hogan frowned. He had been afraid something like this was going to happen. "What about our Red Cross packages?" he asked.

"I have been informed that they are stuck in Dusseldorf." Klink informed Hogan. "They won't be here until well after Christmas."

Hogan tried to hide his look of crushing disappointment. It looked like the Christmas dinner LeBeau was planning was not to be. "At least you can give us the extra hour of electricity, sir." Hogan pressed him. "We need it for celebrating."

"Fine," Klink relented. "You may have an extra hour of electricity, but only on Christmas Eve."

"And Christmas Day," Hogan insisted.

"Why would you need it for Christmas Day?" Klink asked. "The Celebrations, by their very name, occur in the daytime. You don't need any extra light!"

"Two hours on Christmas Eve then!"

"One hour and that's final!" Klink stood up and saluted Hogan. "Diiiismissed!"

Hogan turned around to leave the room. "Have you ever heard of Ebenezer Scrooge? From the Christmas Carol?"

Klink furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "I believe an English prisoner told me about it once."

"Well, you're acting just like him. Bah Humbug." Hogan pulled the door shut with a bang. That had not gone as well as he hoped. Hogan sighed, frustrated.

"Your talk with the Kommandant didn't go well?" Helga asked sympathetically.

Hogan laughed. "You could say that. Not only did it not go well, but I just found out our Red Cross packages aren't coming until after Christmas!" Hogan ran a hand over his face, frustrated. "What am I going to tell the boys? They were looking forward to those!"

"I'm sorry," Helga stood up and put her hands on Hogan's shoulders. "If there's anything I can do, I will. Although, I'm snowbound as well."

Hogan turned around. "Merry Christmas to me, then." He kissed her. "Actually, there is something you can do to help. We, meaning LeBeau, Carter, Newkirk, Kinch, and I, are doing a Secret Santa exchange. Would you be able to help me out?"

"Of course!" Helga was grinning. "Who do you have?"

"Newkirk," Hogan answered.

"Newkirk," Helga thought for a minute. "About six feet tall, brown hair, a British RAF uniform, and walks with his hands deep in his pockets?"

"That's him." Hogan nodded.

Helga frowned. "Isn't he a pickpocket?"

"Only for the good guys," Hogan said. "Do you have any ideas?" he asked quickly, trying to change the subject.

"I've seen him walking around a few times. Why does he always keep his hands in his pockets?"

"I don't know, I've never asked." Hogan snapped his fingers in sudden realization. "Gloves! Newkirk doesn't have any. We've tried to give him some from our…supplies, but he won't take them! All I have to do is…" Hogan stopped smiling. "…go into town." He shook his head in disgust. "Why in the world did I suggest a Secret Santa?"

"You'll think of something," Helga said reassuringly. "Maybe you can make some."

"I can't sew, that's Newkirk's department. But you're right," Hogan kissed her on her forehead. "I'll think of something. I'm going to go back to my office, see if that helps me think of something."

Helga kissed him back and returned to her desk. She started to search it. "He can sew?"

"Yes. He's a man of many talents." Hogan raised his eyebrows. "Did you think of something?"

Helga pulled out a sewing kit. She opened the latch and took out a thimble. "I have several extra thimbles. Do you think he'd like one of them?"

Hogan whistled. "Are those silver?"

"Part silver part iron. I had them before the war. I didn't see any reason to give them up for the war effort." Helga grinned. "You can take one for Newkirk."

"Are you sure?"

"I have plenty of them," Helga insisted.

"Thank you," Hogan gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Another thing. Do you have any extra papers?"

"Jawohl, Hogan," Helga took out some old newspapers from the waste basket. "What for?"

"Wrapping paper." Hogan took them and winked. "See you later. Auf Wiedersehen." Hogan pulled up the collar of his jacket and headed back into the storm. The cold didn't bother him as much as when he first went in. Although, he didn't relish telling his men about the Red Cross packages.

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"Come on Schultzie!" LeBeau begged. "Let me go in there!"

The two men were standing outside of the Officer's Mess hall.

"It is _verboten_ , absolutely _verboten_!" Shultz said.

"Please?" LeBeau asked again. "I won't be more than five minutes!"

"No," Schultz answered firmly. "The Officer's Mess hall is only for those on Kitchen Detail, and we do not need anyone else there today!"

LeBeau sighed. "Not even for a chocolate bar?" he waved it tantalizingly by Shultz's nose.

Schultz smiled happily. "Chocolate..." he took the candy from LeBeau's hand. "Alright. Five minutes, no more, no less!"

"Merci, Schultz!" LeBeau went inside the kitchen. Most men were busy cooking. Nobody noticed LeBeau stuffing utensils in his pocket. He didn't try for any food; the krauts kept a very strict inventory on that, and he didn't want anyone on kitchen detail to get into trouble. However, he doubted if anyone would notice a few missing measuring cups or whisks. He didn't need much, he had most of the things he needed in Barracks 2. In a few minutes, LeBeau had everything. He turned to leave.

A man walked by, caring a very full trash bin. Suddenly, he tripped and fell, spilling it everywhere.

The man sighed. LeBeau winced inwardly. He had dropped the trash before. He grabbed a broom. "Need some help?"

"Thank you," the man said gratefully. He held the trash can while LeBeau swept the trash in. Suddenly, a flash caught his eye. A cracked wristwatch was mixed in with the trash. LeBeau bent down and picked it up. The strap was a worn leather. The cracks on the wristwatch made it hard to read. The hands were still attached, but they were stuck at 4:45. It was broken, almost trash. But LeBeau knew who could fix it. Kinch.

"You want that?" the man asked. "You're welcome to it."

LeBeau smiled. "Merci." He swept the rest of the trash into the can and left. He gave Schultz an appreciative nod as he headed back to the barracks. LeBeau couldn't believe that he had found something so nice in the trash. After he cleaned it up a bit, it would make a good gift for Kinch. He could probably switch the strap, or at least wrap it in some leftover fabric from a tailoring job. LeBeau started whistling. He had utensils for the Christmas dinner, Red Cross packages filled with special treats for him to cook with, and a present for Kinch. It was even going to be a white Christmas! LeBeau was sure this was going to be a Christmas no one would forget.

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Newkirk and Kinch sat in the tunnels. Kinch was weaving the wreath, using a bicycle tire as a base. Newkirk was surrounded by leftover bits of black S.S uniform fabric. He was joining the straps together with some thread.

"Look at us!" Newkirk joked. "We're a bunch of Girl Scouts!"

Kinch laughed. "I wish we had the cookies though."

"Mmm," Newkirk sighed wistfully. "Cookies. Do you think LeBeau can pull some off?"

"I think it's unlikely," Kinch admitted, "but I've learned to never underestimate LeBeau. He can surprise you."

"That'd be a ruddy Christmas miracle," Newkirk snorted. "Cookies made from war rations in a prison camp."

Kinch nodded in agreement. "So, what are you making for Carter?" Kinch asked.

"It's supposed to be a bag," Newkirk frowned, "but it's not turning out like I thought it would. It's a bit…baggy. As in, it's too big. I figured Carter could use a nice large bag to carry explosives in, but I'm not going for this large."

"That's a good idea." Kinch said. "Don't worry Newkirk, I'm sure he'll love it."

"At least, that's what he'll tell me." Newkirk grumbled. "How's the wreath going Kinch?"

"Well…" Kinch held it up. "Keep in mind I've only made a wreath once before, and I had help the first time." The branches, instead of being in one flawless circles, were bunched up in four different places. The branches all curved to the left. In fact, it almost looked like…

Newkirk burst out laughing.

Kinch's eyes widened in surprise. "What? I was just showing you how messy it is! I can't quite secure the branches to the rim of the wheel, and the spokes…"

"Kinch, it's a swastika!" Newkirk chortled.

Kinch turned the wreath around. He started to grin. "We've been here too long," he said, half-jokingly, trying to keep from laughing. "We're seeing things."

Newkirk raised his right hand mockingly. "Heil Christmas!" he announced in an exaggerated German accent.

Kinch set the wreath aside, shaking his head and laughing. It was to funny not to laugh anymore. "I give up. Maybe next year."

Newkirk swallowed his giggles painfully. "We're a terrible Girl Scout Duo, aren't we?"

"At least your bag looks kind of like a bag," Kinch pointed out. "My wreath…not so much."

"I think that's the bloody understatement of the year." Newkirk said. "So, have you thought of anything for LeBeau?"

Kinch shrugged. "Well, I have some pine branches and a bicycle wheel."

Newkirk shrugged back. "I have no idea what to make with those."

Kinch leaned back thoughtfully. "Well, LeBeau likes cooking, French food, wine…"

"Girls..." Newkirk added.

Kinch snapped his fingers. "A cologne!" Kinch grabbed the extra branches. "Maybe we can make some out of this!"

"That's a great idea!" Newkirk said. "Just one thing. Do you think LeBeau will let me use it?"

Kinch grinned. "Maybe. The only question is; how do you make cologne?"

"You should ask Carter. He used to work in a drug store after all."

"Ask me what?"

Newkirk hastily shoved his gift behind his back.

"I have a gift idea for LeBeau and I need your help." Kinch explained. "Do you know how to make cologne?"

"Nope, but I'm willing to try!" Carter said excitedly. "By the way, do you guys have any ideas for Colonel Hogan?"

Newkirk shook his head. "Sorry mate. Can't help you there."

"Something will come to you," Kinch reassured Carter. "You still have one more day after all."

"Why did I have to get the hardest person?" Carter complained to himself.

Kinch picked up the pine branches and stood up. "You welcome to jump on the cologne bandwagon and give Hogan some too."

Carter smiled gratefully. "Thanks Kinch. I want to make something on my own if I can. But for now, let's start experimenting."

Newkirk shook his head as he watched Carter and Kinch head off to the chemistry lab. He pulled the bag out from behind his back and started sewing. He hopped Carter didn't try anything too crazy in there. The last thing he needed for Christmas was Kinch and Carter in a box.

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Several miles away from Stalag 13 between Dusseldorf and Hammelburg was the small town of Ebenlanch. There wasn't much noteworthy about it. Most of the residents were farmers. However, in the center of town square sat a small church. The interior was simple. There was a small sanctuary, a wooden alter, a small wooden cross, and several wooden pews. The only thing of note was a large organ that sat in the right corner of the church.

The church choir had just finished their practice and were starting to file out. The young organist started to organize his music. Suddenly, a music sheet fell out. He frowned and picked it up. He didn't recognize the piece. He frowned at the title. It said something about Unsung Heroes.

"What are you waiting for, Rudy?" an elderly woman shouted at him. "You're not going to let me walk myself home in this weather, right?"

"Jawohl, grandmother." The young organist shoved the piece back into his pile. "I am coming." He ran after his grandmother and into the swirling snow.


	3. The Night of the 22nd Part 1

**The Night of the 22** **nd** **, Part 1.**

Hogan and LeBeau were playing cards while Newkirk, Kinch, and Carter were in the tunnels. It wasn't anything to special, just Go Fish. But Hogan was doing terribly because his thoughts weren't on the game. They were only on how to tell his men that they wouldn't be having a Christmas dinner. He knew that he wanted to tell them all at once, so he didn't have the pain of repeating his message. But it hurt to have LeBeau playing cards, happily discussing the feast he had in mind.

"What's wrong, mon colonel?" LeBeau asked, concerned.

Hogan put down his cards. Just before he was going to confess to LeBeau, Schultz came in.

"Colonel Hogan, I have great news for you!" he announced, shivering.

"Knock before you enter next time!" Hogan stood up. "What is it?"

"Role call has been cancelled until the storm lets up."

LeBeau grinned. "That's great! We don't have to stand out in the snow!"

"Another thing, Hogan." Schultz said. "All prisoners are also confined to barracks until the storm passes as well. Any prisoners outside the barracks…"

"Will be shot. We know, Schultz." Hogan said.

"Danke, Colonel Hogan," Schultz took him aside. "May I talk to privately for a moment.

Hogan nodded. "Sure thing. Just step into my office." Hogan held the door open for Schultz and motioned for him to come inside. Hogan shut the door behind him.

"When I was in the mess hall," Schultz began, "I lost a certain…item of mine. A wristwatch. Would you happen to know anything about that?"

Hogan's eyes widened. "Are you accusing my men of stealing?" he asked indignantly.

"No, Hogan," Schultz reassured him quickly, "but you always seem to know almost everything around here, and this wristwatch is very special to me. It used to belong to my grandfather, Stephan Schultz. My grandmother gave it to me as a Christmas present a few years ago when she was dying from…" Schultz frowned for a minute. "…I believe the term in English is Alzheimer's? She thought I was my grandfather, and she was giving it to him…" Schultz got a faraway look in his eye.

Hogan patted him on the back. "We'll keep an eye out for it, Schultz. What does it look like?"

"It has a brown strap, and the name S. Schultz engraved on the bottom. I also need to wind it, so the time will be wrong." Schultz smiled sheepishly. "I've been meaning to do it, but I keep forgetting."

Hogan laughed. "Just leave that watch to us. You go have a Merry Christmas."

"You too Colonel Hogan!" Schultz answered back. The two of them left the office.

Hogan sat right back down to his card game with LeBeau. "Whose turn was it?" he asked.

"Yours, mon colonel." LeBeau answered.

"Right," Hogan looked through his hand. "Do you have any Queens?"

Before LeBeau could answer, a loud explosion shook the barracks.

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Newkirk had heard several little explosions from Carter and Kinch's experimentation, but this was the loudest one yet. Newkirk jumped several feet, and then cursed when the needle slipped and stabbed him. He sucked his injured thumb while Kinch and Carter ran into the radio room, coughing and covered in dust.

"Well that tears it," Kinch sighed. "That's the last of the pine branches, burnt to a crisp."

"I'm sorry Kinch," Carter said apologetically. "I gave it my best shot."

"I know." Kinch sniffed the air. "Well, it does smell like pine trees around here. And a smell is basically all cologne is."

"Too bad we couldn't put this in a bottle and give it to LeBeau," Carter sighed. He turned to Newkirk. "Hey, what are you doing with those cloth scraps?"

Newkirk snapped out of his stupor and quickly hid the present before Carter could get a better look at it. "Nothing."

"C'mon Newkirk, tell me!" Carter encouraged him.

"Well, if you must know, it's your Christmas present." Newkirk admitted.

Carter's face lit up. "Oh boy! Can I see?"

"Now, now, Andrew," Newkirk scolded Carter as he tried to peek around him. "If you see your present now, it'll take all the fun out of Christmas morning. You don't want that, do you?"

"No," Carter stepped away reluctantly. "I guess not. Plus, that'd take the fun out of Christmas morning for you, because you'd already know what I think of my present. Although, it doesn't matter what you'd make for me Newkirk; I'd love it anyway. Unless it's underwear. I mean, I see the practicality of giving someone that for Christmas, rubber is in short supply, but in reality, how are you supposed to know if they like it or not? Or if it works? Or if it looks good on them? You can't just walk up to someone and ask, 'Hey! Can you pull down your…"

Newkirk held up his hand. "Don't worry. I'm not making you underwear. I promise."

Carter sighed in relief. "Phew, am I glad to hear that! Not that I wouldn't mind getting a pair, of course."

Newkirk sighed. Sometimes, he wondered what went on in Carter's head.

LeBeau and Colonel Hogan climbed down the ladder. "What was that explosion?" Hogan asked.

"It smells like pine in here," LeBeau said, surprised.

"It was supposed to be your Christmas present," Kinch admitted. "I was going to give you a cologne made from the left over pine branches, curtesy of Carter's chemistry knowledge, but, we kind of botched it."

"It's okay, mon ami. It was a wonderful idea." LeBeau smiled. "At least I kind of get to enjoy it."

"Don't worry, Louis, I'll get you something else," Kinch promised.

"I have some news for you guys," Hogan announced. "The good news is that Schultz just told me that rollcall is cancelled for the next few days."

Everyone cheered at this news. Hogan waited for the noise to die down. He took a deep breath. "However, I do have some bad news. We're confined to barracks until the storm has passed."

"Shoot!" Carter's face fell. "I haven't been able to find anything for you, Colonel! I was hoping to search the camp some more tomorrow!"

"Don't worry about it," Hogan smiled kindly. "You can get me something after Christmas."

"That's true," Carter agreed. But he still felt sad. Wasn't part of Christmas giving gifts to other people?

"I guess my present will have to wait until after Christmas too, LeBeau." Kinch said sadly.

"That's okay, Kinch," LeBeau said reassuringly.

"Don't worry," Newkirk gestured to the pieces of cloth. "I have some more of these in the back. We've got three colors: black, gray, and green. Maybe you two can make something out of those."

"But we only have one sewing needle," Kinch lamented. "I don't want to interfere with your present to Carter, Newkirk."

"I don't mind waiting," Carter said. "I'd rather LeBeau had a Christmas present than me."

"Merci, André," LeBeau said gratefully. "But I'm okay. If only we had time to find more sewing needles, but with the metal shortage going on…"

"We'd have more if you hadn't left one of them in the hem of that Lieutenant's pants." Newkirk pointed out.

"We were running out of time!" LeBeau protested. "There wasn't time to mend the hem properly. Besides, you shouldn't have used that other one to hang up that picture…"

"How was I supposed to know that would break the needle's eye?" Newkirk interrupted LeBeau hotly. "Do you remember that one time when…"

"Hold it, hold it!" Hogan raised his hands for calm. "We don't need another war down here."

Newkirk and LeBeau stopped arguing, embarrassed.

"I'm afraid I've got some more bad news," Hogan said grimly. "We also have to cancel Christmas dinner."

LeBeau gasped. "Mon Dieu!"

"What?" Carter was dumbstruck.

"Our Red Cross packages got stuck in the snow." Hogan informed everyone. "They're currently in Duesseldorf. They won't be coming until after Christmas.

"Well, why don't we go get them?" Newkirk stood up. "I'm ready to go when you are!"

"Look out the window," Hogan jerked his head towards the ladder.

Everyone climbed out of the tunnels. Cautiously, Newkirk opened the window blinds and rubbed the frost off of the glass. White swirling snow filled the courtyard. In fact, even squinting, it was hard to make out anything. It was almost as if the entire Stalag had disappeared.

"It's like we're in a winter wonderland," Carter said dreamily. "I feel like I'm back in North Dakota."

"It looks like a wall to me," Newkirk remarked gruffly. "A bleeding white wall."

"It's impossible to get anywhere in this weather." Hogan said. "I know you all were looking forward to the Christmas dinner, but it's just too dangerous to go out there."

Everyone stood in silence for a few moments. Finally, Kinch broke the silence. "I don't think any of us can argue with that."

"You know, I found wrapping paper," Hogan said in attempt to lighten the mood. He pulled the newspaper out of his pocket. "We don't have tape, but we can use those extra cloth scraps for bows."

"Blimey, using Kraut newspapers for our Christmas presents?" Newkirk grinned. "I like it." He grabbed a handful.

LeBeau took some too. "Merci, Colonel."

Hogan grabbed a little bit and shoved it in his pocket. He held up the rest of the stack. "I'll save the rest of this for when you two can get out and get a present. It'll be in my locker when you need it." Hogan nodded at Kinch and Carter.

"Sounds good to me," Kinch said.

"LeBeau, you have yours ready, right?" Hogan asked.

"Oui," LeBeau answered.

"Why don't you and I get ours wrapped right now in my office?" Hogan suggested. He winked at Kinch and Newkirk. "We wouldn't want you two to accidentally see your presents, would we?"

"No sir," Kinch agreed.

"I'll just go downstairs and keep working on Carter's present then," Newkirk decided. "Do you want to come with, Kinch?"

"Sure thing," Kinch said.

The two of them headed over to the tunnel. Newkirk turned to Carter. "Now Andrew, don't come peeking, okay?"

"Sure, Newkirk," Carter said earnestly. "I can wait until Christmas. Well, I really can't, but if I have to, I have to, I guess."

Newkirk tapped the bunk. "See you after lights out, mate." He and Kinch disappeared.

Hogan and LeBeau headed to the office. "Can I come with you guys?"

"Do you promise not to tell Kinch and Newkirk what they're getting for Christmas?" Hogan asked.

Carter held up his right hand. "Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye. Once Newkirk it finished with my present, anyway."

"Why would you want to stick a needle in your eye?" LeBeau asked, confused.

"It's an aphorism," Hogan explained as he opened the office door. "Like, 'a penny saved is a penny earned,' or, 'shooting fish in a barrel'."

"English is weird," LeBeau remarked, sitting down. "You say 'ker-nel' when you spell it like 'col-o-nell'. Do you have any idea why you do that?"

"I never understood that either," Hogan admitted, sitting on the edge of his bed. "It's kind of weird, now that I stop to think about it."

Carter shut the door and pulled up a chair. "What did you guys get Kinch and Newkirk?" he asked eagerly.

LeBeau smiled and reached into his pocket. He pulled out the watch.

Hogan's eyes went wide. "Where did you find that?"

"I found it the mess hall while I was looking for utensils," LeBeau explained. "Someone tripped, spilled the trash can, and this was in it."

Carter whistled. "Boy, that's lucky, LeBeau. Can I see it?"

LeBeau passed the watch over to him. Carter took it gingerly. "Wow…" he breathed.

"It's broken," LeBeau admitted, "but I think Kinch could probably fix it. Or, he could probably use the parts for something."

"He does have a wristwatch already," Hogan said.

LeBeau's face crumpled.

"But," Hogan added hastily, "He did tell me a few weeks ago that it quit working. Maybe that watch can help fix Kinch's."

Carter turned over the watch and peeked at the underside. "Um…guys, you better look at this."

Hogan and LeBeau looked at it. Engraved at the bottom was an inscription. "S. Schultz."

"S. Schultz…" Hogan's eyes widened. "Stephan Schultz."

"Stephan Schultz? You know who this watch belongs to?" LeBeau asked, bewildered. "Is he related to Sargent Schultz?"

"He told me just a while ago in my office that he had lost his grandfather's wristwatch." Hogan explained miserably. "He seemed really distressed when he told me about it. It means a lot to him."

LeBeau sighed. "Then we should give it back. Kinch will understand when I tell him."

Carter passed the watch over to Hogan. "That's some bad luck LeBeau," he said sympathetically.

"Well, there's no use in dwelling on it," LeBeau decided. "What did you get Newkirk, mon colonel?"

Hogan reached into his pocket. "I got him…" his face fell. "Uh oh."

"You got him…?" Carter prompted.

"I have a hole in my pocket," Hogan muttered. He stood up and turned out his pockets, frantically patting himself down.

"Did you lose it?" LeBeau asked anxiously.

"I don't have it on me," Hogan said, "but I bet it's somewhere in the barracks."

"We'll help you look, boy, er, sir." Carter offered. "What is it?"

"A silver thimble," Hogan said.

LeBeau whistled. "How did you get one of those?"

"Helga gave it to me," he explained, getting down on his knees.

The three of them searched all over the barracks. They even searched the radio room. Kinch helped, while Newkirk left for a different part of the tunnel, so his present remained a surprise. But no matter how hard they looked, there was no sign of the thimble.

"Well, I think it's time to call it quits." Hogan sighed. "Okay Newkirk, you can come back now."

"Did you find it?" Newkirk asked.

Hogan shook his head. "No. I'm sorry Newkirk."

Newkirk shrugged. "That's alright. Maybe you'll find it after Christmas."

"Maybe," Hogan said.

"Kinch," LeBeau took a deep breath. "I don't have a present for you anymore." He explained about Schultz's grandfather's watch.

"Well, that's some good luck for Schultz." Kinch remarked. "If you hadn't been on the lookout for possible gift ideas, he may have never found that watch."

"Oui," LeBeau agreed.

"Besides," Kinch continued. "I can probably fix his watch up a little. It'll be a fun Christmas project for me."

Hogan handed Kinch the watch. "Here you go then."

"So…" Carter asked shyly, "What are we doing for Christmas now?"

"I've still got your present, mate." Newkirk turned to Hogan, Kinch, and LeBeau. "Do you guys want to give me a hand with it?"

Everyone nodded. "You can count me in," Hogan said.

"Now hang on a minute!" Carter interjected. "I don't need a present! If you guys don't get anything, why should I?"

"Because we want to give you," LeBeau explained.

"Besides, I've seen your gift." Kinch grinned. "You're going to love it!"

"Well, I'm sure I am," Carter began, "but…"

Newkirk cut him off. "Carter, they all want to help. And I really want to give you this present. I mean, I'm already a quarter of the way there, and it'd be a waste for me not to finish it, right?"

"I suppose so," Carter admitted. "I'll watch for Schultz, then." Carter headed up the ladder.

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Everyone came up shortly before lights out. _They all seem happy_ , Carter thought.

"Evening Carter!" Newkirk greeted his friend. "We're making marvelous progress on your present."

"That's great," Carter smiled back.

"Everything's alright outside?" Hogan asked him.

"I didn't see much of anything, to be honest." Carter said. "There's some wind now and it's blowing all the snow around. I'm not even sure if they have anyone patrolling around, to be honest."

"Well, in case they do, we should probably get ready for lights out then," Hogan said.

LeBeau yawned. "I call the sink first."

Carter watched everyone talking and laughing. LeBeau came up and took his measurements. As Carter crawled into bed, he couldn't help but feel a little left out of Christmas.

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Carter stared at the bottom of Newkirk's bunk. He listened to the sound of his friend's snoring blending in with the howling of the storm. _It's not fair_ , Carter thought. _Everyone put in all of that work for their Christmas presents, and in the end, they don't get the pleasure of giving or receiving. I didn't even have an idea for Hogan, and I'm the only one getting a Christmas present._ Carter sighed softly. Hogan, Kinch, LeBeau, and Newkirk all deserved Christmas presents as much as he did. And they wanted them too. They all said that they were happy working on Carter's present, and that would make Christmas morning for them, but Carter could sense that they all wanted presents of their own. Besides, he felt lonely, and like he was doing nothing for Christmas. Carter gently rolled out of bed, shivering as his socked feet met the cold wood.

Carter walked out to the window and watched the snow dancing around in the wind. Growing up in North Dakota, he was no stranger to the weather interfering with his life. He remembered the time he had gone to his cousin's for a birthday party and ended up stranded there for three straight days while a blizzard tore through town. He remembered his family's car almost hitting a deer on New Year's Eve when the blowing snow made it too hard to see the road. That had been about a week before Carter started to learn how to drive. His brother Sammy teased Carter about the encounter the entire time. "Watch your speed. Your name is Little Deer Who Runs Swift and Sure Through Forrest, not Little Deer Who Runs Swiftly on the Road. We met him on New Year's Eve, remember?"

But most of all, Carter remembered the one Christmas he had that the weather had completely destroyed. That Christmas, his father had been stranded in town. It had also been the year Carter discovered that Santa wasn't real. Not that he hadn't had evidence before. Most of the boys at his school didn't get any presents from Santa, ever. But when "Santa's" presents failed to arrive Christmas morning, Carter's mom had no choice but to tell her son the truth. There was no such thing as Santa.

Carter remembered running to his room, crying. His mother followed. "Andrew, I know Santa being imaginary is coming as a shock to you. Do you want to talk about it?"

"I always thought…" Carter hiccuped. "I always thought Santa could give you anything you wanted. He's magical, and kind, and I kind of wanted to make toys at his workshop someday! Or wrap presents! Or feed the reindeer!"

His mother gently rubbed his back. "And why did you want to work there?" she asked kindly.

"Well, it sounded like fun," Carter explained. "And once I got too old for Santa to give me gifts, I could help him make other people happy."

"That's what Christmas is all about, dear." His mother said. "Making other people happy. Technically, there is no such thing as Santa. There never was. But people do good things in his name. And through that, they've given Santa a sort of spirit."

"A spirit?" Carter perked up. "Like, a Native American Spirit?"

"Not that sort of spirit," his mother explained. "People use his name to spread happiness. That's why your father and I made the decision to give you and Sammy presents and say they were from Santa. Because we wanted you two to be happy."

"But, once we found out Santa wasn't real, you knew we wouldn't be happy." Carter said. "Why did you keep telling us he existed anyway? Most of the kids at school don't even celebrate Christmas, and they kept telling me Santa wasn't real, and I…" Carter swallowed a sob. "I told them they were wrong."

"Andrew," his mother said gently. "We did that because we hoped that you and Sammy would both grow up and carry the spirit of Santa. We hoped that you would always give happiness and hope."

"Happiness and hope..." Carter murmured softly. And from that Christmas on, he tried to remember his mother's words.

Carter snapped out of his reminiscing and came to a decision. Perhaps there was a way he could work for Santa after all. He couldn't buy anyone presents. He was a terrible crafter. But he was no stranger to snow. He could handle it. He gently snuck over to his locker, pulled out his army clothes and jacket, and pulled them on over his pajamas. He slipped his hat on and his mittens, and picked up his shoes. He gingerly made his way over to the false bunk. He stuck his laces in his mouth and gently lifted the bunk up by hand. He knew that was bad for the system, but he couldn't think of another way to sneak out of camp without waking anyone else up. He gently pulled the bunk shut and quickly put on his shoes. Carter grabbed a compass and some maps, and shoved them in a bag. Then, Carter grabbed the ladder and began his ascent out of the tunnel.


	4. The Night of the 22nd Part 2

**Hey y'all! I'd just like to say thanks to all of you for reviewing and following my story! This isn't the last chapter or anything, I just want to say so. :)**

 **I'm also heading back to school tomorrow. Hopefully, that doesn't affect things to much, but if I disappear for 2 weeks or so, that's probably why.**

 **I'm also sorry for spamming your inboxes. I made a few typos in some earlier chapters, so I had to fix that.**

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 **The Night of the 22** **nd** **, part 2**

Carter pushed the lid of the tunnel open slowly. The weight of the snow made it hard to open. Carter swung his leg over the stump and rolled into the snow. The snow got into his jacket and his mittens. Carter reached up just in time to stop the wind from snatching his hat away. For a minute, he considered just giving up on the plan.

"The spirit of Santa," he muttered to himself. "The spirit of Santa." He got up, checked the compass, and started to move towards Duesseldorf.

The storm was not like any of the ones he remembered in North Dakota. Maybe all those years living in Indiana had made the snows of North Dakota seem like nothing more than a distant memory. But now the chilling cold brought it all back. This was dangerous. If he wasn't careful, this could be the last snow he ever saw. He kept checking the compass. _As long as I follow the compass and the map_ , he thought to himself, _I should be just fine._ Everyone was going to be so happy when he brought the Red Cross packages back to camp. He closed his eyes and pictured the smiles on everyone's faces. They'd be happy, no, ecstatic to get them before Christmas. He could taste LeBeau's dinner on his lips, and smell it in the air. And then there was the present waiting for him…

Thinking of his return made Carter feel a little warmer inside. _Any minute now_ , he told himself, _I'll be in Duesseldorf. And then I can find the Red Cross packages, and then…_

Carter slipped and fell on his back. "Ow!" He gingerly sat up, rubbing his tailbone. What had he slipped on? He looked between his legs and noticed a thick sheet of ice.

Carter was on a frozen river. And a crack was starting to form.

Carter stared at it in horror _. This isn't good_ , he thought, heart pounding. He racked his brains, trying to remember any advice he'd ever been giving about being stuck on a river.

 _Don't walk on a river in the first place unless you're 100% certain it's frozen through!_ Carter heard his father's voice in his head, stern and commanding.

 _Sorry about that, Dad_. Carter thought. He bleakly wondered if he was ever going to see any of his family again.

 _Don't think like that!_ He mentally scolded himself. Taking a deep breath, he started to back himself off of the ice, making sure to keep his weight evenly spread on the ice. He could hear it crack even more. If the crack got too wide, he'd be plunged into the freezing waters bellow. If it was too deep, he'd drown. He couldn't swim. If it was shallow, the water on his cloths would hasten hypothermia.

 _Just keep going._ he urged himself. _Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep going._

After what seemed like eternity, he felt the snow on his mittens. He sighed in relief and pulled himself off of the river. Carter laughed nervously. "Whew! Guess I'm not going that way." He pulled out his map and checked the compass. It looked like he'd have to find an alternative route to Duesseldorf.

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Newkirk woke up, staring at the celling. He was freezing. _Bloody hell, it's cold. Someone must've accidently left a window open_ , he thought sleepily. _When I get my hands on him…_ Newkirk sighed and rolled out of bed. He could distinctly feel a breeze. It chilled his bones. In the dark, he made his way over to the window next to his bunk. He felt the frame. It wasn't that window. He felt the breeze again, this time near the back of his knees. Newkirk frowned. He squatted down. There it was, again! Newkirk felt around blindly with his hands and noticed a sharp temperature drop near the trick bunk. He had found the source of the problem. The bunk was cracked about a quarter of the way open.

"What in the world…?" Newkirk murmured. He tapped LeBeau, who was sleeping in the bunk above.

"Quelle…?" LeBeau yawned. "Que es-tu?"

"It's me, Pierre," Newkirk gave LeBeau another shake.

"Hello, mon ami," Newkirk could hear LeBeau rolling over. "What are you doing awake?"

"The bunk's cracked open," Newkirk told him. "Do you know if anyone left through here?"

"Non, I didn't see anybody. You don't think someone came in through the tunnel, do you?"

Newkirk shook his head, and then realizing LeBeau couldn't see it, said, "Nah. We'd notice it. But just in case, I should check." he felt his way to the light switch and bravely turned it on.

Newkirk was instantly met by a chorus of groans from his fellow barrack-mates.

"Who turned the light on?" someone asked.

"I did," Newkirk explained. "I needed to check on something."

"Shut 'em off!" someone else yelled.

Newkirk quickly glanced around the barracks. Everything seemed in order, until he glanced at Carter's bunk. It sat neatly made, and empty.

"Sorry," Newkirk apologized, and quickly shut off the light. He waited a moment to see if Colonel Hogan had woken up in all of the commotion, but it seemed as if his office door offered a decent bit of soundproofing. Newkirk slowly crept back towards LeBeau. "Carter's missing," he whispered.

"Do you think he snuck into the tunnel to see his present?" LeBeau suggested.

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "After I told him specifically not to?" Newkirk pulled the bunk open the rest of the way. "He better not have!" He muttered, grabbing his shoes.

LeBeau gently climbed back down and grabbed his shoes as well. "One way to find out." They both snuck into the tunnels.

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"Carter!" Newkirk called. "Hey, Andrew!"

"Andrè?" LeBeau asked. "Where are you?"

"He's not in the tunnels," Newkirk frowned. "Where in the world could he have possibly gone?"

LeBeau's eyes widened. "Pierre…do you remember when we decided to work together on Andrè's present? And Andrè didn't think it was fair that he was going to get a present when we didn't?"

Newkirk nodded. "Yeah, I remember."

"What if he went to go find some presents on his own?"

Newkirk felt dread coursing down his spine. "Oh blimey," he breathed. "I think you're right. Is he daft, going out in this weather?"

"We have to go after him!" LeBeau grabbed two German coats and the black knit hats the two of them used for sabotage missions. "Quick, let's put these on!"

Newkirk slipped the coat and the hat on. "Do we have the compass anywhere?"

"Non. Carter must've taken it."

"Well, that's ruddy brilliant," Newkirk grabbed a couple of bundles of thread. "Okay. We tie this to a tree just outside the emergency tunnel. Then, when this bundle runs out, we tie the next one to it, and so on and so forth. That way we can search for Carter without getting lost."

LeBeau nodded. "It sounds like a good plan to me. But what if the krauts see the string?"

"I doubt they'll be able to see it in this snow," Newkirk reasoned. "But if they do, we're in trouble. There is going to be quite a bit of risk to this. You up for it?"

LeBeau smiled determinedly. "I'm in," he said. "Now, let's go before Carter gets too far away."

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Cater was shivering like mad. "This was a bad idea," he said aloud. "A very bad idea." There wasn't any reason to talk to himself, but it distracted him from the thoughts dancing around in his head.

 _I'm not going the right way._

 _What if I don't get to Duesseldorf?_

 _Forget that! Maybe I should just turn around and go back to the Stalag!_

 _What about the Red Cross Packages?_

 _What about Newkirk? And Hogan? And LeBeau? And Kinch? They're waiting for me…_

Carter tripped and fell flat on his face. He weakly pushed himself on his elbows, spitting snow out of his mouth.

 _I'm so cold._

For a minute, the revelation crushed him, sinking into his bones. He fought back the tears, the hysteria, that threatened to overwhelm him.

 _I'm sorry…_

He had to get up, he had to! But there was no strength in his arms, no strength in his legs. His resolve was crumbling.

 _I guess…I guess I won't be home for Christmas._

Carter started to shake, even harder than he had been before. It should've been a simple trip. How did he mess up things so bad? He didn't want to die. Although, it'd be nice to see Sammy again…

Suddenly, a picture filled his mind. Kinch, sitting at the radio, waiting for news. Hogan, pacing anxiously back and forth. And LeBeau and Newkirk, coming back into the tunnels, grim expressions on their faces that could only mean one thing…

 _I can't let that happen_ , Carter dragged himself toward a tree and pulled himself up. _I can't. I won't. I WON'T!_

Tears streamed down his face as he stumbled through the forest. He wasn't sure where he was going. He wasn't sure if he could handle falling again. He wasn't even sure if he was going to make it through the night. But he was going to try.

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"Newkirk!" LeBeau yelled. "This is madness! We have to go back!"

"J-just a little further!" Newkirk yelled back, teeth chattering in the cold. "I still have p-plenty more string!"

"Pierre," LeBeau ran up and gently touched his shoulder. "We're out in a snowstorm, and it's freezing cold out. We're going to catch our deaths."

"C-carter could too," Newkirk pointed out. "C'mon, LeBeau. J-just a bit longer?"

LeBeau slowly shook his head. "I went to sleep in a sweater and a scarf, and I'm freezing cold. You're dressed in nothing but a nightgown, a German uniform, and a black hat. You don't even have gloves, mon ami."

"S-so?" Newkirk challenged. "I'm absolutely fine, thank you very much."

"You can't help Andrè if you die from hypothermia," LeBeau said simply. "We should go back to the Stalag and have Kinch radio the underground. Maybe they can find him."

"But it could be too late by then!" Newkirk protested.

"Pierre," LeBeau squeezed his shoulder tightly. "Carter grew up in North Dakota, remember? They have snowstorms up there all the time! If anyone has a chance of surviving in this weather, it's him."

Newkirk stared ahead hopelessly. There was no sign of Carter anywhere. There was nothing but the swirling snow and the howling of the wind. He hated to admit it, but LeBeau was right.

"Carter'll be okay," Newkirk muttered to himself. "H-he has to be."

LeBeau sighed audibly in relief. Newkirk was being sensible. "I'll go look around this area and see if he's around, and then we'll head back. Oui?"

"Oui," Newkirk agreed. He handed LeBeau a string end, and LeBeau went off searching. But Newkirk was sure what LeBeau would find. Nothing.

"Please be okay Carter," Newkirk whispered fervently to himself, shivering in the cold. "Please."

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Carter collapsed for the second time, rolling down a hill and landing on his front. This time, he felt no panic, no sense of urgency to get up.

 _I should get up_ , a voice in the back of his head said.

 _There's no hurry_ , another one said.

 _Well, okay then._ Carter thought, face buried in the snow. _I guess I'll stay here. It's not too bad._

That's when he heard the music drifting over the hills.

Carter propped himself up on his elbows. It was an organ. He must be near a church. Where else could you hear an organ? With a start, he realized that he knew the tune. It was Silent Night. A Christmas Carol.

 _Someone's playing Silent Night? Here in Germany?_ Carter frowned, confused. Was he hallucinating? There was only one way to find out. Slowly, he forced himself up. Shuffling, he made his way towards the music.


	5. The Dawn of the 23rd

**...Yeah. I accidently lost this chapter around February, and due to its length, never had the heart to rewrite it. I decided to look for it one more time and I somehow found it on a flashdrive. I'm backing this story up more now. Lol.**

 **I promise you will not have to wait as long as you did this time for the next chapter. Anyway, enjoy!**

 **P.S: All historical and factual errors are unintentional.**

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 **The Dawn of the 23** **rd**

Klaus Bauer stood outside in the cold, smoking a cigarette. It was just past midnight according to his watch. Normally, he'd be in bed. But around 10:45 PM, he had been woken up to a tapping on his window.

"Klaus. _Klaauus_."

Bauer sat up sleepily. "The shop is closed!" he yelled.

"Klaus, it's me. Rudy. Rudy Lehrer. Your best friend."

Bauer was shocked to see that Rudy was indeed at his window. And somehow, he had pulled it open. "Was?" Bauer asked, irritated.

"Let's go break into the church. I want to play the organ."

Bauer stared dumbly at his friend for a moment.

"Pfarrer Schmidt is partially deaf in both ears. He wouldn't hear a thing."

Realizing that Rudy was serious, he shook his head vehemently. "Nein! That's sacrilegious!"

"I'll only play church music. Bitte?" Rudy asked sweetly.

"Nein."

"Bitte? Bitte bitte bitte bitte bitte…"

"Nein! Est verboten!" Bauer said firmly.

"I'm going to the Russian Front the day after Christmas." Rudy reminded him wryly. "Or did you forget that?"

Bauer took a deep breath and sighed.

"This could be my last Christmas." Rudy added, grinning. "You can't ignore my last wish, can you?"

"Fine!" Bauer conceded. "I'll do it. But _not_ because you're going to the Russian Front."

"Danke, Klaus! I'll meet you there!" Rudy sped away.

"You forgot to close my window, dummkopf!" Bauer yelled after him, but his friend was already gone.

And that's how Bauer had ended up in front of Ebenlanch's one and only church, smoking a cigarette. It was the only thing keeping him awake. He listened to Rudy play _O Tannenbaum_ over and over again. Rudy was a perfectionist, and it showed whenever he played. Klaus was going to miss hearing Rudy every Sunday morning.

It wasn't fair that Rudy was being drafted. Rudy was a happy-go-lucky sort of fellow. He always walked around with a smile on his face. Unfortunately for Rudy, he'd had some bad luck in his life. Rudy's mother had died shortly after he was born. Rudy's father had volunteered for service, but had been shot down and declared missing in action. He lived with his grandmother now, Frau Lehrer, but she was…eccentric to put it mildly. After losing her husband to World War I and her only child to World War II, all she cared about was the choir at church. That, and the Fuhrer and the rest of the Nazi party.

Bauer sighed. He knew Rudy didn't want to go to war. Rudy could barely kill a fly, let alone a man. And Bauer didn't want him to go either. Rudy was almost certainly going to die. And if he didn't, the horrors of war would crush Rudy's gentle soul like a bug. Bauer had seen what World War I had done to his father, and hundreds of other Germans. He couldn't let Rudy be broken like that.

However, Rudy saw it as a matter of honor that he'd been chosen for the Russian front. Rudy and his grandmother only listened to the propaganda from Berlin, as did the rest of the small town. According to the propaganda, everything was going great. Klaus had a secret radio, but sharing it with Rudy was dangerous to say the least. Rudy had trouble keeping his mouth shut, and if he started to spread the truth, the people of Ebenlanch could band him a liar. And then Rudy could meet a very sticky end, courtesy of the Gestapo. Bauer thought it was safer, at least for Rudy, to believe the lies the propaganda ministry told.

Bauer wanted to join Rudy, not for the Fatherland, but to protect him. At least, he would if he could. Bauer looked like Hitler's version of the 'perfect German', with brilliant blond hair and stunningly blue eyes, the poster child on the recruiting posters. However, there was the matter of his fingers. They were shorter than normal because he had Brachydactyly Syndrome. Normally, it didn't affect Bauer's life much, except for a few odd looks here or there. However, his fingers weren't long enough to pull the trigger of a gun. And since there was no reason to send a man who couldn't even use a gun off to fight, Bauer was exempt from the draft. Sometimes he felt helpless and lonely watching his friends and family go off to the war while he was forced to stay behind. But he had always had Rudy with him. Now, his time with his best friend was running out.

 _Gott_ , Bauer silently prayed, _if there's any way you can save Rudy from the front, please do._

Rudy started to practice a different Christmas song _, Stille Nacht_. Bauer leaned up against the church, smiling. _Stille Nacht_ was one of his favorite songs. He sat, listening as Rudy played. Bauer could remember his father telling him the story of how _Stille Nacht_ was made. It was a favorite story of Bauer's, and he requested it every year until he was grown. The church organ in the town of Oberndorf had been destroyed by mice and could not be repaired before Christmas. It looked like there would be no Christmas Carols at Christmas that year. Then, Mohr and Gruber, the assistant Pfarrer and the church organist, created a Christmas Carol that could be sung with just a guitar.

"Remember," Bauer's father would always say, "you don't need a lot for Christmas. All you need is some good songs and good friends. And you'll be okay."

Rudy was letting the music crescendo, verse by verse. Bauer relaxed, letting the music wash his worries wash away. Christmas was almost here. He had Rudy, and Rudy had the good songs. Bauer had even saved some sugar from his rations to give to Rudy. If this was really Rudy's last Christmas, Bauer owed it to him to make it the best one yet. There was no reason to be out here, smoking a cigarette, even if it was helping him stay awake. He should be inside, watching his friend play the organ. Bauer extinguished his cigarette butt.

Suddenly, _Stille Nacht_ was playing at an earsplitting volume. Bauer covered his ears. "Rudy! Quiet down!" he yelled.

But Rudy seemed oblivious to Bauer's shouts. The song got louder and louder. Just as Bauer was about to run inside and tell him to stop playing, Bauer noticed Pfarrer Schmidt coming towards him. The short, rotund priest looked strange in a nightgown, but Bauer hardly had any time to take in the sight before Pfarrer Schmit was right in front of him.

"Was ist laos, Klaus?" Bauer could tell that the man was shouting, but Bauer could still barely hear him over the organ. "What are you doing here at this time of night? Is…is Rudy playing the organ?"

"I know nothing, herr Pfarrer," Bauer held up his hands in surrender. He wasn't going to give Rudy away until he absolutely had to. "The organ must've…just started playing itself." He winced. That was a weak excuse, and he knew it.

Pfarrer Schmidt cupped his hand to his ear. "Was?"

"I know nothing!" Bauer repeated empathetically. "I see…" Bauer saw some movement over Schmidt's shoulder. He stopped mid-sentence. He squinted into the forest. A figure appeared from the bushes, swaying dangerously back and forth.

"Was! Ist! Los! Klaus!" Pfarrer Schmidt yelled again, emphasizing each word.

"Herr Pfarrer, there's a man…" realizing Pfarrer Schmidt couldn't hear him, Bauer simply pointed over his shoulder.

Schmidt turned around and saw him. He quickly ran over to him. Bauer followed. The two of them kneeled down in the snow. Bauer instantly noticed the man's brown leather jacket and fur hat.

"It's an American Pilot," Bauer said. "He must've been shot down."

"Was?" Schmidt asked. Bauer thought for a moment that Pfarrer Schmidt was talking to him again, but the priest was bent down next to the American. Bauer did the same thing, hoping to hear what the pilot said.

"Bitthe," he slurred. "Bitthe. Help…"

Bauer could barely understand the American, but he knew that he was in trouble. The slurred speech was a sign of hypothermia, and Bauer was certain if they took the American into the church and got a look at him in the light, his lips and fingers would be blue. Bauer patted the pilot on the shoulder. "Jawohl," he promised. "We will help you."

The American smiled. "Thannke, serr. Dank you..."

Bauer frowned, concerned. The man seemed to be mixing German and English together. His confusion was not a good sign. Bauer motioned to Schmidt and made a scooping motion. Schmidt nodded and picked up the man's legs. Bauer put his hands under the man's shoulders. Together, they took him into the church.

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Newkirk and LeBeau slipped into the emergency tunnel. Colonel Hogan and Kinch were already waiting for them.

"Where were you?" Hogan demanded angrily. "Schultz came over for a visit and you three were missing! Fortunately, we stopped him from raising the alarm by telling him Klink would definitely cancel his New Year's furlough if he reported any of the prisoners as…" Hogan noticed Newkirk's nightgown sticking out from underneath his German uniform. "Where's Carter? And why are you two dressed in your pajamas?"

"We don't know where Carter is, sir," Newkirk admitted. "That's what we were trying to find out. LeBeau had a theory that Carter went to find us presents on his own, sir. Since he felt guilty that he was the only one getting a gift for Christmas."

"We tried to follow him as soon as we realized he was gone." LeBeau added. "We didn't find a trace of him."

Hogan ran a hand over his face. "Oh boy." He knew Carter had had good intentions, but why had he left? Carter knew that the weather was bad, he even had direct orders to not go outside! But he had disobeyed them anyway. That wasn't like Carter at all. Hogan felt sick.

"We should've looked longer," Newkirk muttered regretfully.

"Non, mon ami," LeBeau told him sternly. "If we'd been out there much longer, you'd be dead from hypothermia by now."

Hogan observed Newkirk more closely. He was shivering slightly, and his lips had a light blue color to them. "Newkirk, I want you to sit next to the stove for a while and warm up. LeBeau, make him something warm to drink. And have something yourself too. I don't think anyone will come and enforce lights out in this weather."

"Sir, what about Carter?" Newkirk asked.

Hogan turned to Kinch. "Alert the Underground to be on the lookout for Carter. Give them a physical description, but don't mention his name. If the Germans intercept the message, that could make things worse for Carter if he's been captured."

"Right away Colonel," Kinch said. He started to write out the message.

"Isn't there anything else we can do?" Newkirk begged. "We should be out there searching too!"

"I know, Newkirk. But it's too dangerous to be searching for him in this weather. We don't even have a general idea of where to look. I'm sorry."

Newkirk bit his lip. The Colonel was right. Running out into the snowstorm recklessly would be suicide.

"The underground will find him," LeBeau assured Newkirk. "Carter will be back here before you know it."

"Yeah," Newkirk agreed halfheartedly. He went over to his secret hiding place. There was only one thing to do. He took out the bag he was making for Carter. "Right, then. I'll go warm up."

"I'll make you some cocoa," LeBeau promised.

"Thanks, mate," Newkirk said. The two of them climbed up the ladder.

Kinch tore off the piece of paper. "Is this good, Colonel?"

Hogan started to read. He grinned. "This is perfect. Nice work, Kinch."

"I'll send this out, then." Kinch put his headset on.

"Thanks, Kinch. I'm going to check on Newkirk. If you get any news, let me know." Hogan climbed up the ladder. He hoped that someone in the Underground would have something to report soon.

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Rudy thrust his fingers into every note of _O Tannenbaum_ , trying not to think about the future. All that mattered to him was now, with the church's organ. He rarely was allowed to mess around with it. Usually, he could only play the organ during choir practice, or when Pfarrer Schmidt was watching. He wasn't allowed to play around with the piano then. _Practice this, practice that. Play the chords for the Gregorian Chant._ _What is that noise? That doesn't sound like church music, Rudy! Play something that's actually church music!_

Rudy didn't like being bossed around, especially when it came to the organ. Before his father had gone off to the war and died, they had played the piano together. After his father's death, Grandmother burned most of his sheet music. Apparently, Hitler didn't like the people who'd written them. Rudy was to play only two different kinds of music, the musicians Hitler loved and church music. Rudy didn't understand. Wasn't a musician and his music two different things? What was wrong with other artists? Why couldn't he play them? He didn't raise a fuss though. She was his grandmother, and all he had left in the world. He didn't have much of a choice.

When Pfarrer Schmidt started going deaf three years ago, Rudy had started sneaking into church to play with the organ. And it was even more wonderful than he could have imagined. Rudy could play whatever he wanted, for however long he wanted. No church members or government officials to tell him what to play. He met a musician who owned a store in Duesseldorf, Herr Engel. He had a wide selection of pieces, including some beautiful piano concertos. Herr Engel had even given him some forbidden pieces. He hid those among his church music, certain that his grandmother would never look through them.

Rudy's dream would have to wait, though. He was to go to the Russian Front after Christmas. It was a great honor, Rudy knew. But he had heard stories about the Russian Front that had made his blood run cold. He didn't want to even think about them. And after men came home from the front, they were never the same. If they came home at all, that was.

Rudy shivered, unsure if it was from the cold or the stories.

Klaus had been with him, but his friend had decided to go out for a smoke, to ease his nerves. Rudy's grandmother had never let him smoke (it messed with one's singing, apparently). He wasn't sure what Klaus found so enticing about cigarettes. One thing was certain though, he was definitely smoking a lot more of them lately. He'd even asked Rudy for some of his cigarette rations, which Rudy gave him, of course. What were friends for?

Ever since the war had started, Klaus had become more and more serious. When his father was drafted into the war, he took over the store for him. And when Klaus's father died, Klaus had taken over his affairs, made the funeral arrangements, and so on. Rudy sometimes felt like he was losing his best friend. The townspeople didn't even call Klaus by his first name anymore. They referred to him as Herr Bauer or sometimes just Bauer. Rudy, on the other hand, was just referred to as Rudy. Nobody called him by his last name. He didn't even get as much as a Rudolph. He was still a kid in most people's eyes. Which annoyed him. Just because he acted a bit differently than most people or took things literally or sometimes misunderstood what people were saying did not mean he was a kid. He was almost twenty-one, after all. He was a long way from his childhood.

Rudy abandoned his Christmas carols for a moment. He took out Unsung Heroes. He didn't remember asking for it, or Herr Engel ever mentioning the title to him. Perhaps Herr Engel had given it to him as a mistake? Or maybe it was a gift. Rudy frowned. He read the author's name. Felix Mendelssohn. That couldn't be right. Rudy had bought all of his piano conciertos already.

Rudy gingerly plucked out a few keys, quietly, so nobody could tell he was playing unsanctioned music. It sounded okay for the first few bars, but after that, it turned into a musical mess. Was it a work in progress? But even if it was, it sounded nothing like Mendelssohn.

Rudy frowned. Klaus still wasn't back from his smoke break. He decided to change to Klaus's favorite Christmas song, _Stille Nacht._ Klaus would definitely come back in to see him play if he heard that. Carefully, with his foot, Rudy gradually started pushing the expression pedal down to make the music louder. He could barely feel his socked feet or his fingers, but he ignored the tingling. When Klaus got back, he could build Rudy a nice, roaring fire. After all, he was going to the Russian Front soon. It could be one of his last chances to have one.

"Klauus!" he called. "Hey, Klauus!" Rudy grinned. He couldn't wait to see the smile on his best friend's face.

Suddenly, Klaus burst in the door with Pfarrer Schmidt. Between them was the body of an American soldier.

Rudy stood up quickly, not even stopping to put on his shoes. "Mein gott! Is he dead?"

"Nein," Klaus told him. "but he needs to be warmed up."

"Rudy, grab a pot so we can boil some water for this man." Pfarrer Schmidt ordered. "Schnelll!"

"Jawohl, Herr Pfarrer." Rudy raced off to the church's basement. He grabbed a cup and a pot. He filled the pot with water, and raced back upstairs. He could barely feel his feet; he was so cold.

Klaus was tending to the fire when Rudy came back. Pfarrer Schmidt came back from the Sacristy with several robes. "I'm sorry we don't have a coat for you." He apologized, helping him put a white robe on. "I hope you don't mind." He wrapped a green stole around the man like a scarf.

"D-d-danke," the man said, shivering.

"You must be hungry," Pfarrer Schmidt continued. "I'll get you something to eat."

The man frowned, confused, but nodded anyway.

"I'll be right back," Pfarrer Schmidt promised. "I think I have something in my house I can make for you." He hurried away.

Rudy hung his pot over the fire, taking a closer look at the man. He looked about his age. His cheeks were red, and his lips were blue. He didn't look like an evil bad guy. "Do you speak German?" Rudy asked curiously.

The man didn't answer. He only pulled the stole tighter around himself.

"Your boots are soaked through," Klaus told the man. Klaus carefully slipped the American's boots and socks off. Rudy couldn't help but notice that his toes were also blue. Klaus gently started to rub his feet.

 _I'm trying to keep the blood going around in your feet_ , Klaus told him.

Rudy frowned. He didn't speak much English, outside of 'Hello', 'Goodbye,' and, 'Stop or I'll shoot!'. "What did you tell him, Klaus?"

"I told him I was trying to restore the circulation in his toes," Klaus explained, "Or, at least, that's what I was trying to tell him. My English isn't very good."

"It's better than mine," Rudy told him. "I'd love to be able to speak a second language." Rudy glanced over at the water. Bubbles were just starting to float to the surface. "It's warm now."

Klaus took the cup and scooped some water. He gingerly handed it to the man and spoke some more English to him. _Drink this. Be careful, the cup is..._ Klaus paused for a minute, trying to remember the right word. _The cup is feverish_.

The man gave him a funny look, but drank the water anyway.

"So, what do we do now?" Rudy asked. "Are we going to turn him in?"

Klaus shrugged. "I don't know."

Rudy frowned. "What do you mean you don't know? What else are we supposed to do, let him escape to England or something?"

Klaus bit his lip. "Well, no, but…"

The door swung open. Pfarrer Schmidt came back, covered in snow. In his hands he had a tray and a loaf of bread. "Eat," he said, setting it in front of the man.

The man gingerly reached one gloved hand out. He took the bread and looked it over, as if he thought Pfarrer Schmidt had poisoned it.

Pfarrer Schmidt saw what the American was doing. He took a small chunk of bread and ate it himself. "Sehr gut," he said.

The man smiled happily and took a big bite. He chewed it slowly. "Sehr gut." He repeated.

"I'm going to ask his name." Klaus gently tapped the man's shoulder and asked the question.

The man didn't seem to hear the question. He was too invested in the bread. Klaus reached for his dog tags. "Andrew Carter," he read aloud.

The man perked up at the mention of his name. He started to gabber in English. _Yep, that's me, b-boy. Andrew Carter. S-sergent. Serial n-number….I forgot what it was. Huh. That's not good, is it?_

Rudy ignored his babbling and kneeled down in front of Andrew. He pointed to himself. "Rudy Lehrer." Then, he pointed at Klaus. "Klaus Bauer." Finally, he pointed at Pfarrer Schmidt. "Pfarrer Schmidt."

Andrew weakly waved his hand in greeting.

"Pfarrer Schmidt," Rudy asked, "What are you going to do with him?"

"For now, give him a warm place to sleep and plenty of food." he answered.

"Shouldn't we call the Gestapo?" Rudy asked.

"Nein," Klaus answered quickly. "The Gestapo needs a holiday. Besides, do you want to ask them to come out in this snow?"

Rudy shook his head. "No, but isn't it our duty to report these things to the Gestapo?"

Pfarrer Schmidt looked up from the prisoner. "The Gestapo? This man has been through enough! We can't turn him in!"

Rudy frowned. "But... it's our duty as German citizens to report these things!"

"Have you heard what the Gestapo does to their prisoners?"

Rudy felt his stomach drop. "Those are just rumors."

Pfarrer Schmidt stared straight at Rudy. "Do you believe that? Or is that what your grandmother told you?"

Rudy shifted uncomfortably. It was like Pfarrer Schmidt had peered into his soul. "Um...um…" he stuttered.

"How about this?" Klaus suggested. "We wait until after Christmas to deal with Andrew. For now, we keep him in the attic room, and worry about this later. And maybe we should turn him into a Camp Kommandant, instead of the Gestapo. Or maybe he's escaped from a camp already. Let's do that before we call in the Gestapo, okay?"

Rudy thought about it for a moment. "Okay." he agreed.

"Herr Pfarrer, do you agree?"

"We're not calling the Gestapo?"

Klaus shook his head.

Pfarrer Schmidt looked back at Rudy. "You're not going to tell anyone else, are you?"

"Nein, Herr Pfarrer."

"Good. Now help me take Andrew up to the attic room."

Without another word, Klaus grabbed Andrew's shoulders while Pfarrer Schmidt grabbed his right leg. Hesitatingly, Rudy grabbed his left leg. On the count of three, they lifted him up.

All Rudy could think about was how much his Grandmother would disapprove of this. If she found out, the Gestapo was the least of his problems.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Private Weber made his way to the basement of Gestapo Headquarters. How could things go so wrong? His contact from the Underground, Herr Engel, had been caught distributing secret messages via his music shop. Weber wasn't sure how the Gestapo had figured it out. He suspected someone had talked. He'd have to do some investigating later, but now was not the time. He had to save Herr Engel.

Herr Engel's cell was the last one on the right. Weber took out his keys and opened it. He had bribed the guard to give him five minutes. Hopefully, that would give him enough time to concoct a plan for escaping.

Herr Engel was sitting on the edge of his bed, head bowed. He looked up at the sound of the door slamming. "Heinz?"

"Ja," Weber answered, smiling. "I'm here to get you out."

"Nein," Herr Engel shook his head. "I will not let you risk your life for mine. I'm old, and I've lived my life. It's alright."

Weber felt a lump in his throat. "But H-herr Engel…!"

"Heinz, listen to me." Herr Engel grabbed Weber's arm. "I received a coded piece of sheet music from my contact. Before I got raided, I gave it to a frequent customer of mine, Rudy Lehrer."

"Is he a part of the resistance?"

"Nein, although I think he could be sympathetic to our cause. But Rudy doesn't know what he has. Letting him buy forbidden music is one thing. Telling him to take care of a secret message from the resistance...I'm not sure how he'd react."

"Weber swallowed back his tears. Now was not the time. "What does he look like?"

"Brown hair, brown eyes. He's about your height. He lives over in Ebenlanch, about a block from the church there. His grandmother is a very...eccentric lady."

"Eccentric?"

Herr Engel laughed. "She's a Nazi fanatic. And the town looney. Don't say that to Rudy though. He loves his grandmother."

"Okay. But Herr Engel…"

"You need to get to Rudy and get the score before the 26th. Rudy has been drafted and he's leaving for the the Russian Front that day."

Weber winced. "Right after Christmas..."

"I know. And you have this blizzard to contend with. But I have faith that you can do it."

"Do you know what information is on that sheet?" Weber asked. "Then I could just break you out of here…"

"Nein." Herr Engel interrupted him. "I never got a chance to read it. The code is simple though. First…"

Weber heard the door slide open. The guard cleared his throat. "You paid me for five minutes. I gave you five minutes. Say your goodbyes."

"Bitte, give me another five minutes." Weber started to search his pockets for some Reichsmarks.

"Nein. The firing squad is ready. I cannot make them wait any longer. They want to get home before Christmas, after all."

Weber felt his gut twist. Herr Engel squeezed his shoulder. "You should go, Heinz. Quickly. Don't stick around."

"Jawohl." Weber's mouth felt like led. This couldn't be happening.

Herr Engel gave him a push. "It's okay."

Weber turned to the guard in desperation. "You don't have to do this."

"My brother is in Dachu, and I have to take care of his nephew." The guard looked away. "I'm sorry. But...I can pretend to go deaf for a few seconds."

"I understand." Herr Engel said. "Weber, the code is based on the key signature on…"

"What is taking so long?" another man poked his head around the door. Weber had only ever seen him at a distance, but he could recognize the voice anywhere. Major Hochstetter.

"Who is this man?" Major Hochstetter snapped.

Weber came to his senses and quickly saluted. He couldn't fight Major Hochstetter, as much as he'd like to. He'd only end up being shot with his mentor. There was nothing more to do. He decided to tell part of the truth. "My name is Private Heinz Weber. I...I heard that my mentor's shop got burned down. I went to his house and he was gone. His neighbor told me that he was here…" Weber swallowed. "I couldn't believe that he betrayed the fatherland. I needed to talk to him."

"You needed to talk to him?" Major Hochstetter frowned suspiciously.

Herr Engel caught on. "He needed confirmation that I was selling illegal music. And I told him I was."

"I still can't believe this." Weber blurted out.

"Me neither." Herr Engel said. "But it's happened."

"Yeah." Weber whispered.

Major Hochstetter sighed. "Private Weber, do you need to watch?"

Weber snuck a glance at Herr Engel, who subtly shook his head. "That's alright. I-I guess I'll be going home now."

"I can go with you." The guard offered.

"Don't be ridiculous." Major Hochstetter snapped. "Private Weber is fine on his own. Aren't you, private?"

"Jawhol." Weber answered. "I'm fine." He turned to Herr Engel. "Auf Wiedersehen."

"Auf Wiedersehen, Heinz." Herr Engel smiled at Weber. Weber turned away for the last time and saluted the major. Clenching his fists, Weber walked up the stairs and out the door. He made it to the end of the street before he started sobbing.


End file.
